can't stop, won't stop

persuade. pursue. persist. push through :: sunrise to sunset. no stopping anytime

the most phenomenal woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

-Maya Angelou

i've shared this poem with many phenomenal women in my life. but today, i celebrate the MOST phenomenal woman. happiest birthday to the my beautiful mom, who makes 62 look so effortless. i love you today and always. xox

maya, may i

Maya, may I have this dance
to shake my rhythm hips
and speak my lyric lips;
to be everything it is
that I feel,
everything that I am.

Maya, may I grow
from the roots of my toes
to the leaves of my finger tips,
knowledge constantly pulsing.
Maya, may I never forget
always, there is something to learn.

Maya, may I cease to judge,
may I remember 
our individually colored threads
weave one beautiful
tapestry of humanity.

Maya, may I be strong enough
to not only attempt,
but to achieve;
and be brave enough 
to face the falls.
And rise again.

Maya, may I? 

            You may not--you will, as we all will.

And we all will.

I had the privilege and pleasure to go to a speaking by Dr. Maya Angelou earlier this month. Inspiring might only begin to describe the experience. Above I pay homage to just a few of the jewels I took--and continue to take--away from her lecture. Her life and body of work is tangible proof that any human being can achieve excellence. Any human being. And if we allow ourselves. . .we all will.

from her cowboy boots to her down home roots...

happiest birthday to the most country girl i know. all my yee-haw love, miss lola. xo

you can do anything that you wanna do, but uh-uh, don't step on my cowboy boots. 

-hank jr. 

i would give you the 'the wide ocean'...

but the wide ocean is already yours, and mine, and ours. so i give you neruda. because i know he--like the ocean--speaks to your spirit. happy birthday to you, my mermaid <3

Ocean, if you were to give, a measure, a ferment, a fruit

of your gifts and destructions, into my hand,

I would choose your far-off repose, your contour of steel,

your vigilant spaces of air and darkness,

and the power of your white tongue,

that shatters and overthrows columns,

breaking them down to your proper purity.

Not the final breaker, heavy with brine,

that thunders onshore, and creates

the silence of sand, that encircles the world,

but the inner spaces of force,

the naked power of the waters,

the immoveable solitude, brimming with lives.

It is Time perhaps, or the vessel filled

with all motion, pure Oneness,

that death cannot touch, the visceral green

of consuming totality.

Only a salt kiss remains of the drowned arm,

that lifts a spray: a humid scent,

of the damp flower, is left,

from the bodies of men. Your energies

form, in a trickle that is not spent,

form, in retreat into silence.

The falling wave,

arch of identity, shattering feathers,

is only spume when it clears,

and returns to its source, unconsumed.

Your whole force heads for its origin.

The husks that your load threshes,

are only the crushed, plundered, deliveries,

that your act of abundance expelled,

all those that take life from your branches.

Your form extends beyond breakers,

vibrant, and rhythmic, like the chest, cloaking

a single being, and its breathings,

that lift into the content of light,

plains raised above waves,

forming the naked surface of earth.

You fill your true self with your substance.

You overflow curve with silence.

The vessel trembles with your salt and sweetness,

the universal cavern of waters,

and nothing is lost from you, as it is

from the desolate crater, or the bay of a hill,

those empty heights, signs, scars,

guarding the wounded air.

Your petals throbbing against the Earth,

trembling your submarine harvests,

your menace thickening the smooth swell,

with pulsations and swarming of schools,

and only the thread of the net raises

the dead lightning of fish-scale,

one wounded millimetre, in the space

of your crystal completeness.

-pablo neruda